


Person.

by orphan_account



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Angel's Name Is Anthony, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Human Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Implied Cannibalism, Implied Hematolagnia, M/M, Marry Him Al You Gay Fool, Melodramatic Alastor, Murder, Repression, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24804409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Alastor experiences emotions that send his psyche on a rollercoaster.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 95





	Person.

Various crisp, perturbing cracks fill the air as a strange, euphoric energy begins to bounce around the noise. Warm blood splatters across cool cement, crimson liquid illuminated by moonlight and fury. Alastor’s wrists feel tense from the weight of the axe. Bubbling in his veins, right around that tension, is a feeling different from the past years. His arms feel weighted, and his lungs feel all clogged up.

Never once could Al recall a situation that mirrored the emotions this carried. He knew only the performance of a smooth, swinging dance. Lungs aching with brisk air that flooded his vicinity, the nerve-filled burn of his arms with every sharp movement, and that coppery substance he loved so dearly gracing his skin, accelerating that burn with hotness tenfold. With a long, heavy breath, he acknowledges the disconcerting contrast and swiftly brushes it aside.

Alastor stares down at the bloody, wrecked thing below him. Addressing it as a human puts a bad taste in his mouth, hypocrisy aside. An issue becomes apparent to him, the question of what to do with it. Normally (as normal as it could possibly be, that is) he’d butcher it some more, get the good bits to take home with him, maybe find some way to rig it into anything he could consider a macabre art piece of sorts. At the moment, something about that feels crude to him, and he can’t fathom why. Al settles for sneering at it and kicking its face with the toe of his boot, turning its features away and bashing them into the wall for good measure.

Not wanting to use his hands on it, he resigned to walk away from the scene relatively clean. In some regard, it was a shame, but another part of him begged and pleaded to differ. ' _Perhaps you’ve found something new to love dearly,_ ' Some obnoxious figure in his mind echoed, quickly pushed down, pulled to shreds and compressed to a pulp by a slender-fingered, talon-wielding hand. Alastor is filled with dissonance as he hears it screaming to him, ' _Something,_ ' a cry, ' _Anything._ ' With that, he can’t tell if he’s simply acknowledging its voice’s existence, or if those are its real, concrete words.

Thinking of it less deeply, Al was ready to go back home to his… Person, Anthony. That descriptor didn’t sit right with him, but he tried to stifle the urge to care. No descriptor would sit right with Alastor, despite there being a restlessness to fix that. ' _Right, your person, the one you killed for._ ' What was it with these insufferable thoughts, never ceasing to pop right back out of the grave from whence they came? Seemingly, there was no way for Alastor to think of things less deeply.

_'Person,_ ' Al mused to himself, chuckling with an unmistakable tenderness as he softly unlocked the front door of Anthony’s house. _Alastor_ and Anthony’s house. Home. ' _Perhaps I, too, am one._ ' He thought, far too drunk from sleep, the dissolve of his murderous high, and a hint of some other foreign, light feeling to bother himself with the naivety of that statement. Changing into something more pristine, he shoved his bloodied clothes behind a dresser and slipped into bed with the blonde-haired man he had come to be quite fond of. For now, it was unlikely that it mattered. 

  
At least that person would be greeted with some good news within the next few days, the axe murder of one of his more scummy clients. It made Al smile within his own sadism. He was also greeted with something unusual. Upon imagining the utter relief of _that_ _one person,_ Alastor found himself content enough to fall asleep right beside him.

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this at 4am after being forced at gunpoint to listen to lana del rey


End file.
